Bravery
by kalabangsilver
Summary: Follow up to my fic 'Fidelity'. Starling's relationship with the Doctor moves forward a step.


_A/N – follows on from 'Fidelity'. Can stand alone, but will probably make more sense if you read the other first. Hope you enjoy,_

_Silver. _

_._

_Bravery _

.

Some days you wake up changed. Some days you just wake up. This was going to be one of the latter, for Starling. She could tell.

It had been pouring with rain the night before and water was evaporating fast off the sidewalk, as she left the house for her morning run. Despite it being early, the sun was already high in the sky. Its warmth on her back was pleasant, easing her muscles into a steady rhythm. Thump, thump, thump; shoes on asphalt. The repetitive motion was calming, after the dreams which had been plaguing her mind until the early hours of the morning. Hannibal Lecter featured greatly among them, and not in the way she normally found him, in her dreams.

Last night, she had been running too, her dream filled with sirens and flashing lights. Her feet thumped, then, against another road, somewhere in downtown DC. Through some twist of reality that only dreams can create, Starling had known that the lights and sirens were for Lecter, but had no way of warning him. As fast as she ran, no matter how many turnings she took, she always seemed to end up back at the same place – the Hoover building.

Panic rising, the dream-Starling had twisted and turned down blind alleyways, running up one street and down another until she was gasping for breath and her legs were wracked with pain. She had broken from the dream only because of her alarm, bleeping loudly on the bedside table.

Never had she been so glad to hear its dulcet tones.

Pulling herself from her sweat-dampened sheets, she rose and shakily dressed herself for the day. She went about her morning routine but, until her feet hit the concrete outside, her heart was not in it. Her mind was still completely and wholly consumed with Lecter. It was not that Starling believed she had the gift of foresight. After a quick scan of the radio frequencies and the TV bulletins, she knew that Lecter had not been captured overnight. (His capture, of course, would have been front-page news). Still, her body was tense with worry. She had to reassure herself in some way.

She had no way of contacting him – such had been their arrangement, when they decided to forge a relationship. It was not safe for her to call his house, from her cell phone or from her home number. So, she had to use a phone box instead. The nearest one was five miles away.

It would have been perfectly legitimate to take the car. Starling, however, felt like that would be too much of an admission of worry. She did not like to admit that her body was coursing for fear, over something so foolish as a dream, especially as her lover was more than capable of looking after himself. After all, he had done so for years before she had met him. One scene from her dream, however – the police yelling 'shoot on sight' – was sticking in her mind. Hannibal, dead on the sidewalk. Hannibal, blood as dark as his eyes, pooling out of him.

After two and a half years in the FBI, Starling had seen enough death to know what it looked like, and to know that she never wanted to see its strange stillness come over him. Whatever he had done, he did not deserve that.

Since joining the bureau, Starling had found her once-solid opinion on the death penalty had wavered. She was surprised to find that Lecter did not agree with her. He had told her once, as they obliquely discussed the matter, that he thought the death penalty was entirely appropriate for individuals who would otherwise spend their life in prison, contributing nothing to society. Starling had not known exactly what to say. She had lain at his side in silence, at this announcement, wondering if his submission to medical journals counted as contribution enough to warrant being kept alive. Lecter had not elaborated any further. Eventually, they had moved the subject on and the entire thing had been forgotten about.

Thinking back on it, Starling wondered if it had been a test or a plea. Don't let them take me alive, lover, I don't want that.

He would not survive another eight years in captivity. He had told her that, once, too.

The sidewalk became drier as she ran. Spring had come prematurely, to DC. It was only April and yet the temperature was up in the low sixties. It was an unseasonable but very welcome heat-wave. The winter had been a long one and, while the cold made running easy on her muscles, it had been hell on her lungs. Starling relished the spring. It was her favourite time of year; out of the frozen chill of winter, before the smell of DC in the summer. She ran on through it, in silence.

The phone box was empty when she arrived and with good reason. A small note, taped the handset told Starling that it was out of order. With a whine of distress, she gave the wall a kick and stormed back outside again. What was she supposed to do now? She could hardly run home and call him and she could not bring herself to wait until she was heading into the city tomorrow, for work. She could run home, get the car, and drive over now... but that seemed a bit extreme.

Starling swore out loud and walked up and down a bit. Across the road, a bus wound its way lazily towards her, pausing at a stop along the way. Maybe...

Shaking her head, Starling tried to banish her irrational fears. She didn't need to get a bus over. She did not need to go and check on him. This was ridiculous. It was just a dream and H could damned well take care of himself. H. Shit. Starling closed her eyes as she realised that she was now thinking of him by a nickname alone. It had been a long while, she realised, since she had called him by his surname in person, and even longer since she had used his title. Still, thinking of him by a nickname was a little indicative of how close they had become.

_H_.

Starling grimaced. Maybe the bus was a good idea.

Jogging across the road, Starling made her way to the next stop along the route, arriving just before the bus did. Gasping for breath, she climbed aboard and paid her fare with the rather crumpled ten dollar bill she kept in her jogging pants for emergencies. This, she decided, as she made her way to sit at the back of the bus, definitely counted as an emergency. Whether or not he was fine and it was just a dream, she needed to know. She called him H, now. Somehow, irrationally, that meant she had to know.

The bus took her through the suburbs on a winding route. By the time they reached the city centre, Starling was buzzing with anxiety. She got off at the stop nearest the FBI headquarters because she knew the way to Lecter's safehouse from there. Also, she needed to run a little more, if she was going to be anything like as calm as she wanted when she arrived. The last thing she needed was for him to see how worried she was. The psychological implications of it all would have to be examined and re-examined until she was quaking with unshed tears.

He did like to torture her a little. She allowed him because she like to return the favour – albeit in a different way. She could make him quake beneath her, if she wanted. So, it was only fair, then, that she allowed him to mess with her head... not that she really had a choice in the matter.

She ran harder, faster, urging her body on against the strain. It was nearly a sprint. The streets were thankfully quite empty, at eight o' clock on a Sunday morning. Starling came across nobody she knew as she passed by the Hoover building and her way was clear, as soon as she started to head out of the commercial district. Up one street, along another, left turn, then right. She paused, waiting at a traffic light, before plunging onwards.

As she drew up the street, she did not see Lecter's car, parked on the road. There were no police caution tapes, or cars or news cameras but, still, her heart thundered on. She ran quickly up the front steps and, hand shaking a little, knocked on the door. She had forgotten her key at home.

This was not part of the deal, she thought nervously to herself. If she came to visit, it had to be at a certain time, on a certain day, with her key. As her fingers collided with the wood, she wondered if he would be pissed at her. After all, Lecter was a man who liked to stick to plans – and for good reason. The plan was there to keep them safe. Starling had broken the cardinal rule. Still, she was here now. She had already made the mistake. The least she could do was see it through.

He did not answer after her first knock.

Heart thundering, Starling tried again, a little louder and longer, this time. Eventually, she heard movement behind the door. She stood back, so that he could see it was her, through the peep hole. A pause, then the bolt slid back, on the other side and Starling heard the door being opened.

Lecter stood before her, slightly curious expression on his face.

"Clarice?"

He was fully dressed. In fact, if Starling had to guess, she would have said he was still wearing clothes from the night before. Suddenly unsure, she wavered on the top step, eyes darting over him.

"Hi, I just..." there was no real explanation. She had expected to have to wake him up and for him to be tired but grateful to see her. The fact that he was already awake, and had clearly been otherwise occupied for the last few hours, was slightly off-putting.

He was wearing a tux and a nice one, at that. Where had he been and who with? The second part of the question echoed loudly in her mind, in a pseudo-jealous tone which Starling was disgusted at herself for. She had no claim on him, above their predefined arrangement. They saw each other three times a week, and did not kill and eat each other or shop each other to the FBI. That was the deal. Apart from their time spent together, she did not know where Hannibal went, or what he got up to. She had decided, when they started this, that it was better that she did not know. Then, if it ever came to court, she would not have to lie.

Now, however, she regretted that decision. Her chest tightened, a little, to think of him out with another woman. It was stupid and illogical, because they had never, ever decided to be exclusive, but it was still there. The jealousy, the hurt, the anger. Stop it – Starling told herself – you don't even know what he was doing, you don't know he _was_ out with anyone else.

"You're up early." She said, after clearing her throat.

"Late, actually."

"I see," exhaling slowly, she glanced behind him. A suitcase was half open in the hall, its contents strewn a little. She wanted, more than anything, to ask where he had been but knew that she had no right to. That was not part of the deal. That was not the arrangement they had, between them. It was companionship and sex, plain and simple. She did not get to say what he did with his time anymore than he got to say what she did with hers.

They stood, looking at one another, for almost ten seconds, and then Lecter tilted his head and asked her if she wanted to come in.

Starling nodded, mutely, and did so.

As she stepped inside and he closed the door, most of the light was cut off from the dark entrance hall. It had always been a bit oppressive, with its cavernous ceiling and the railings of the landings on show, all three flights up, but today – with Starling's mood and the clouds which had spread across the sky as she approached inner DC – it was almost forbidding. Starling stepped inside, pacing carefully around a rather expensive-looking rug, to avoid getting her muddy sneakers on it. She went to stand, for lack of anywhere else, beside Lecter's suitcase.

The Doctor closed the door and turned to her.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, softly. His gaze was acute. Of course, he knew, just from her arriving here, that something was wrong but he would never assume what that was. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Starling answered quickly, possibly too quickly. "I just wanted to, uh, see you." She cleared her throat and frowned, trying not to fidget with her sleeves.

Making no move towards her, Lecter reached up and loosened his collar, un-looping the bow tie and stowing it in his jacket pocket.

"Hannibal..." she said his name softly, not quite sure what she was going to follow it up with.

She wanted to go and lean into him, press her face into his chest and inhale his scent. She wanted to go back to that moment when she saw him opening that door and was, for a second, purely happy just to see him.

"Clarice," he nodded towards the doorway on her left, which led to the kitchen. "Would you care for coffee?"

"Yeah, please."

Following him through to the kitchen, she glanced quickly around the place. Nothing had been touched, since her last visit. The used glasses and an empty bottle of wine were still sitting on the counter by the sink. He must have left as soon as she had. For some reason, that thought made her feel dirty, used. Was this place – the place she thought was their sanctuary – just a stopover for him? Did he have other houses, just like this, and other companions? It was stupid and she knew it was stupid, but she could not help herself.

"Long trip?" she asked, trying for nonchalance and failing drastically.

"Transatlantic."

His voice was neutral. Starling could still not tell whether he was happy that she was here, or not. As he rustled around in the kitchen cupboards, fetching coffee beans and other ingredients, she took up a place at the counter, pulling a stood over to sit upon. Lecter offered her pancakes, she declined. He offered toast, she accepted.

"So, uh, you're jus' back, right?"

He nodded, pressing another few buttons on the coffee maker and sliding the pot underneath. It began to gurgle softly. The toaster popped up and he fetched the toast, placing it on a rack and laying it on front of Starling, alongside a small tray of jams and butter. Starling buttered hers and swept jam across half of it as Lecter pottered about, sourcing coffee mugs and milk.

Once the machine stopped humming, he poured them each a mug and came to stand opposite her, leaning on the counter. Starling thanked him for the coffee, but Lecter did not say a word. He helped himself to toast, eating it dry. Eventually, when Starling could stand it no more, she turned to him and blurted out;

"Do you spend any time here, when you're not with me?"

Lecter's eyes raised slowly to hers, unreadable.

"About half my time, yes."

"Oh," it came as an enormous relief, that he did not say no, but still, knowing it was only half his time made her wonder. She breathed out and took another sip of coffee. "I just wondered."

"I was busy the last few days. I had to sort out some family affairs." He explained, gently.

Starling looked up, with a frown.

"Family?"

"My aunt died. She left a note in her will, to contact me through a newspaper classified ad, in order to pass on some items. They were primarily of sentimental value, but I thought it prudent to see her wishes through."

Starling stared.

"You have an aunt?" why did she not know this – especially the part where his aunt was still in contact with him.

"Not a blood relation, but a young woman who was married to my uncle. We were, at one point in the past, rather close." He toyed with his coffee mug. "She used to send me letters, when I was studying medicine. They stopped later, of course, when I was later arrested. After I escaped, from Memphis, I went to see her. She was ill, so I made sure she received the best medical care and, in return, we were reconciled a little. We haven't talked, since, but she contacted me, once or twice, through a newspaper we agreed on. Just a short message, to say she was okay." He gave Starling a taut smile. "She was eighty two, when she died, last week. Metastatic cancer."

Starling stared.

"You have an aunt."

"Yes. And that was where I was, this past weekend."

"With your aunt."

She felt extremely foolish.

"Yes." He nodded, eyes never leaving hers. "Not living it up in the Med, on a yacht full of nubile, young women."

Starling blushed.

"I never said that."

"Your eyes did."

She looked down. "Shit, H..."

Was she supposed to apologise – and, if she was, what for? Should she apologise for doubting his intentions towards her, or for thinking that he did not have anyone else in the world that he cared about? Should she apologise for being ridiculously passive-aggressive about the whole thing, or for turning up here, at all?

"Out of curiosity, what brought you here?" Lecter asked. "You didn't know I was away, so it was not concerning that. My arrival and yours, in such proximity, was just coincidence."

Starling shuffled her feet, against the legs of the stool.

"I had this dream..." she drifted off, frowning, realising how stupid it sounded. "It was nothing," she shook her head, "just stupidity on my part."

"You are not stupid, Clarice."

Looking up, she met his dark eyes and felt even more stupid. He was watching her with unabashed fondness – something that he rarely let her see, though they had known each other for nearly eight months, quite intimately.

"Tell me," he asked her, gently.

"I dreamt that they found you." Her voice was so quiet that it must have barely reached him, across the kitchen.

A moment passed in complete silence. Neither of them moved or said anything. Then, Lecter gave a soft sigh and leant back, off the counter, walking around it to stand next to her. Placing his coffee mug down on the hard surface, he reached over – pausing for just a second to ask permission – and brushed his fingers across her cheek.

"I'm here."

"I know, it was stupid-," Starling began, but Lecter spoke up again.

"No, it wasn't."

"It was." she leant back, away from his fingers, looking down at her hands. "You've got your life and I got mine. I know that. I know that you c'n take care of yourself and I should'a kept my nose out. That's not part of the deal, I get that."

"The deal can change, Clarice." He told her, quietly. "People change, you and I change. You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me, to know that you care."

Starling was quite at a loss for anything to say in reply. Heart beating hard, she stared up into Hannibal Lecter's eyes as they bored down into hers. A few rays of morning sun spilled in, through the kitchen window, turning his irises almost scarlet. They were pinpoints of red, in the half-light, hooking her, holding her there indefinitely. So preoccupied was Starling, with her lover's gaze, that she did not notice his finger lift again, running down the line of her jaw, to her chin. He lifted her face and leant down to meet it, kissing her almost chastely.

They remained close after they parted, Starling opening her eyes almost immediately, Lecter waiting a little longer. As his dark fringe of eyelashes parted, revealing sunlit scarlet, he gave her a tiny smile.

"I brought you something."

"Yeah?" she would have said something more eloquent, but her mind felt dulled, by the brush of his lips across hers; that and the relief of finding where he had been, not with someone else.

"Yeah." He mirrored her speech, but only in the gentlest of teases. "Stay here." He told her and he turned, heading out into the entrance hall.

Starling turned in her seat, facing back towards the toast on the rack. Helping herself to another slice, she buttered it thickly and took a bite. It tasted wonderful. What with the excitements of the morning, she had not eaten before she left. Now, she found herself ravenous. She wolfed down half the slice before Lecter returned, bearing a second suitcase, slightly smaller and older than the first one, under his arm.

"More baggage," Starling exclaimed, with mock enthusiasm. "That's just what I need."

He threw her a smile but did not elaborate. Heaving the suitcase up onto the kitchen table, he pulled out a seat and motioned for her to come over and sit in it. Starling did as she was told.

Unzipping the suitcase, Lecter pulled the top carefully free. Inside, everything was carefully packaged. It all looked old, an antique box sat on top, engraved and gilt around the edges. Starling found herself drawn in, towards it and the scarves and jewellery that lay packaged around it. Lecter smiled, taking up seat next to her and beginning to sift through the items, clearly searching for one in particular.

"Damn, H, where did you get all of this?"

"Courtesy of my late aunt."

Starling withdrew slightly.

"The dead one?" she asked, then winced at being so uncouth.

"The very same." Lecter replied, clearly deciding to ignore her slip in manners.

"Right."

He pulled free the box, in order to search underneath.

"What's that?" Starling asked, ever curious.

He smiled.

"My uncle used to keep tobacco in it. I barely remember him, but I remember this. It was a gift from my father. One summer, I think I was four, we went to see him. This box is the only memory I have of that time." The smile remained on his lips but faded, slightly, from his eyes. Perhaps he was reminiscing now on darker memories of his childhood.

Starling moved a little closer to him.

The Doctor patted the box.

"Old memories, but good ones."

"The best kind, then."

Starling leant over, brushing against his shoulder as she dipped her hand into the box, pulling out a mask. Like the box, it was decorative, but in a completely different fashion. It looked foreign. If Starling had to guess, she would have gone with Japanese, but she was not very educated on that part of the world. It was somewhere the Doctor had not talked very much about and, as all of her cultural information came from the Doctor, she remained rather ignorant of Asian customs.

"Asian?" she asked.

"Japanese." He confirmed her suspicions, but said no more about it.

Starling set it to one side and dug further through, letting him lead, handing her things and explaining their purpose and any memories attached to them. There were a few scarves, a photograph of the family, including a four-year-old Hannibal – which Starling spent a long time poring over as her companion unwound two silver necklace chains – and countless other artefacts which would not have looked out of place in a grand house, or a castle.

Eventually, Starling came to a small, silk wrapped box. She reached for it, but Lecter's hand intercepted hers, picking it out before her. Starling frowned.

"What is that?"

"That is for you." He pulled it free of the suitcase and unwrapped the outer layer of silk, which turned out to be an old handkerchief of some sort.

Starling peered at what lay underneath. The box was mahogany, with inlays of ivory and gold. She reached out to touch it again, hesitantly, and this time Lecter let her. Holding to bottom, he let her pull free the top lid of the box and lift the velvet bag from inside. It was heavy, in her palm. Starling glanced over at her lover's eyes as she held it, sending him a silent question. He did not answer. Her heart beat a little faster as she pulled free the chord that bound the velvet bag and tipped the contents free into her hands.

Inside, there was a thin chain, looped through a delicate golden ring. It was beautiful and, presumably, quite ancient. The engravings along the side were intricate and sweeping. The stones were diamond, from what Starling could tell, and incredibly clear. They had an almost pinkish hue, viewed from the side, and were set out in a trio – two smaller stones either side of a larger one. Admittedly, it was beautiful. That did not stop Starling's heart rate, however, from soaring sky-high in surprise.

Her eyes rose to Lecter's

"H?"

"It is a gift, Clarice, not an ultimatum." He assured her, softly.

She looked back down.

"You are gonna have to be a bit more clear about that." she told him, words barely more than a whisper.

It was not anger, or dismay that made them so quiet. It was fear. She wanted the gift, she was honoured and incredibly touched to receive the gift, but the expectation it came with filled her with terror. Her heartbeat was thundering against her ribs, in her neck, in her ears. In fact, Starling was pretty sure that if she stood up, right now, she would fall right over again. Her muscles felt weak. Even her hold on the tiny velvet bag and the beautiful ring on top of it felt tenuous.

"It's been in my family, for a long time." Lecter told her, voice calm and a thousand times more collected than Starling could hope to be, right now. "My father's brother was the eldest, so it came to him, from my grandfather. He had no children so, thus, it came to me. It's a family heirloom," he explained, "and I'm giving it to you."

"Damn it, H, you know that's not what I meant!"

She licked her lip, closing her hand around the ring then opening it again, looking down at it in surprise. The more she stared, the bigger those diamonds looked and the more terrifying this all became.

"Shit..." she whispered.

"Clarice..."

"Sorry."

With a sigh, he moved closer, running one hand up her side, spreading it out, across her ribs.

"There are no magic words that I'm waiting for, Clarice. There is no expectation," he murmured, leaning forwards and placing a kiss into the side of her neck. "It is just something I want you to have." The Doctor paused, and then added, "You know that I love you very much."

She did. He had told her before, wrapped protectively around her body, after some particularly intense sex. Clarice had chosen to ignore it then and he had let the moment slide. Now, however, there was no way of glossing it over. He had said he loved her. He had given her a ring. And Clarice Starling was rooted to the spot in fear and trepidation. What on earth was she supposed to do, here? She didn't know if she was ready for this. She didn't even know if she was ready to run with him.

"Tell me exactly what you were thinking, just there." He told her, softly, gazing into her face from just inches away.

Shaking very slightly, she did.

A moment passed, in less-awkward silence than Starling had expected. Lecter's eyes softened as he watched her.

"I have told you already, Clarice, this is not an ultimatum."

"You can't give a girl a ring and say it's not an ultimatum. You just can't!"

"Well, I've never been one for observing social norms." Lecter countered, smoothly.

His hand was tracing patterns across her back, soothingly. Starling felt herself falling into his touch, wanting, more than anything, to be able to just fold herself into him and forget all about this important conversation. She did not want to talk. She did not want to explain her neuroses or have them examined.

"Please, H, help me out a bit, here..."

He sighed.

"I love you. The ring is an invitation. Should you want, at any point in your future, to run with me – or hide with me, or whatever mix of those two you deem fit – then I will be waiting. The ring is a promise, for want of a less clichéd way of saying it." Lecter cleared his throat.

"H, are you asking me to marry you or not?"

A moment.

He looked back and forth.

"Yes."

"Right..."

Starling turned back around, looking down at her half-eaten toast. Things had seemed a lot simpler when she had started it.

"Clarice, this isn't meant to be painful."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologise, just..." he sighed. "Should I have waited, to do this?"

She looked up, surprised by his question. He was always so sure of himself. Now, sitting beside her, he looked the tiniest bit lost. Vulnerability, from a man like Hannibal Lecter, was difficult to swallow. Normally, she would have thought it was an act, but for the sincerity in his gaze.

"You've never done this before, have you?" she asked him, quietly.

"Of course not." His answer was immediate, as if he had never even considered it. Perhaps he hadn't. Starling suddenly felt very touched and had to look away for a while, before meeting his eyes again. When she did, he fixed her with a soft frown and asked "have you?"

Swallowing back a laugh, she shook her head.

"No. Well, not seriously anyways. When I was sixteen, my boyfriend asked me. 'Course, at the time, I thought we'd spend our lives livin' in that small town, where the orphanage was. He said we could run away together, into the city. He had a fast car and I was young an' naive, so, naturally, I said yes."

Lecter stared a little. Starling swallowed. She had never shared this with him – with anyone. It felt strange saying it now, after so long kept as a secret, but not a bad sort of strange. Taking a steadying breath, she continued, a little shyly.

"We spent a weekend together, in cheap motels along the I-79." A little smile crept over her face at the memory. Such a tender memory, when not dulled by her usual cynicism. "We never made it to the big city. His sister got sick, so he had to go home to work at his uncle's chop shop. His momma needed the money. I wen' back to school and got my exam results; made it well enough to get into college. Don' think I ever saw him again, after that summer."

"You are not a proposal virgin, then."

She laughed. "No."

"So, you have already identified what I said wrong?"

"Damn, H," she lifted her eyes to meet his, scooting a little closer across her chair. "You didn't say nothin' wrong."

His hand found hers, fingers seeking out the hollow of her palm and curling in there.

"I'm just..." Starling sighed, unable to continue.

Thankfully, she did not have to.

Leaning in a little further, Lecter cut off all need for further conversation. He brushed his lips across hers and Starling responded in kind. Gently, softly, not quite sure where this was heading. The conversation had been so overwhelming and she had already been through so much, for this time in the morning. Her breaths were fast and shallow in her chest, heart fluttering in her throat. Hannibal Lecter was pressing kisses into her lips and she wanted them – she wanted this and, just as he had said, more than this – but she did not know how to properly express her reservations.

What if she was not ready? What if this was a mistake?

"Scared?" he asked her, softly.

"Fuckin' terrified."

Lecter's mouth twitched up, into a smile and Starling realised, very suddenly, part of why she had been thrown so off-balance. He was being nice to her.

Nice was something Hannibal Lecter didn't do. He did interesting and educated quite routinely. He did seductive and playful more often than you'd think. Sometimes, he even did understanding and gentle. For the most part, however, he ran with sarcasm and barely-veiled brilliance, and Starling had never seen him being simply _nice_ before. This was bat-shit crazy, Starling thought to herself. This was completely insane. Could she possibly still be asleep?

To prove that she wasn't, Starling tilted her head back and kissed him soundly, again.

Kissing him was one of her most favourite things to do. It was fast and simple and did not demand too much manoeuvring. She revelled in his expertise at it, too, after so many of her previous lovers had never taken the time. She particularly enjoyed how he moved slowly, letting her absorb herself in the sensation; the change between the dry softness of his lips and the hot wetness of his tongue, the brush of stubble against her chin and the feel of his supple fingers stroking her neck. Starling loved it all. It felt simple and easy and good. Hannibal felt good. Damn good.

There was no way this was a dream. It was far too vivid.

Damn.

"Hannibal," she drew back, sighing his name.

He leant back too, expression patient and careful not to look too invested in what was happening between them. For once, Starling knew, one-hundred percent, that it was a facade. Her lover was every bit invested in this. He would never have brought her the ring, or presented it to her, if he was not invested. As much as he pretended to be cool and in control, he needed to know her answer. The occasional movement of his throat, as he swallowed, told her that.

"I need time." she told him, eventually.

"That's okay."

"I need to think this through. I have no idea how to react."

"I know." He inclined his head towards her. "Hence, I did not do this in a public place, or make a big display of it."

Starling could not help but give a half-laugh at that. Oddly enough, she could imagine the situation; her and Hannibal, in a fancy restaurant, him presenting her with a ring and her running out the door. As the laugh finished, the reality of the situation hit home, one again, and she gave a short groan.

"Oh man, I'm sorry, Hannibal." On a sudden impulse, she reached out and slid her fingers into the hollows formed by his. "I'm sorry I'm so shit at this. I don't mean to be."

"Luckily, Clarice, there is no 'way' that you are required to be." He assured her, softly.

Their fingers slid together again. He was soft, warm. Starling wanted nothing more than to pull him to her. She resisted, however.

"Can you give me time?" she asked.

"I can give you time." A pause, "It would be convenient, however, if you gave me an answer before the end of May." He glanced about himself. "My lease on this place is up and I need to know whether I'm going to renew it."

Starling blew out a heavy breath. Butterflies had filled her gut. May was only a month or so away. Could she decide whether to leave her life and run with Hannibal before then? Some days, her answer would have been instantaneous. She was growing increasingly disenfranchised with her job. There was no justice there. Too often, Starling had seen the guilty walk and the innocent die. In addition to her cynicism, Starling was sick of the rumours.

Her early success, on the Buffalo Bill case – and the others which it had got her into – had led to a freeze-out from her contemporaries and a slight wariness from her superiors. Starling was Jack Crawford's girl and she would be safe as long as he remained with the Bureau, but Jack was getting on in years. His heart was bad. His doctor had told him more than once to retire. Starling knew what would happen when he left. She would be shunted out of Behavioural Sciences as fast as she could blink. It would be jump-out vans and raids that only green Agents would be glad at being assigned to.

Could she face that, she wondered. Could she face the sneers and whispers of her colleagues – the jealousy and constant tales of who she must be sleeping with? Could she face the rest of her life, cooped up in that office, away from the vibrant beauty that Hannibal gave her? He made her feel so alive, that place made her feel dead inside. But, at the same time, _that place_ was the only way she had of making a difference in the world. And she had worked so damn hard to get there.

Leaving it behind also meant leaving Ardelia too and Jack Crawford and John Brigham – the only colleagues she really counted as friends. That would hurt. Starling was sure they and she would get over it, but did she want to? Did she want to start over again?

Could she decide, in just one month?

"May." She gave a shaky sigh. Maybe she could decide if she had to, if she had a deadline. Starling had always been good at deadlines. "I can do May." she told Lecter, quietly, nodding her head.

They exchanged a long look, then Lecter nodded and silence settled in around them, again. Starling toyed with the ring in her hand, sliding it along the chain, turning it over to look at the beautiful stones. Lecter watched her watch it. The sun played down over the pair of them as it rose higher into the sky. It was Lecter who spoke first, and he did so rather shyly.

Tilting his head to catch her gaze, he asked her; "would you mind if I asked you properly, at some point?"

Starling cleared her throat, to hide her surprise, but shook her head.

"No, I'd like that," she paused and then quickly added, "sometime."

"Before or after May?" Lecter asked, and Starling almost answered, before realising it was a joke.

She threw him a mock-annoyed glance instead.

He reached down and took the ring from her, turning it over in his hand. It looked so much smaller against his fingers. He must have been thinking the same, too, because he looked up at her, frowning.

"We can get it adjusted, if it doesn't fit."

"I can try it on now, if you like," Starling offered and so passed an awkward moment, as he slid the ring free of the chain and neither knew whether he should put it on for her or she should take it and put it on herself. Eventually, they decided on the latter. It felt more right, considering this was not really a 'real' proposal - though, Starling thought, it sort of was a real proposal. After all, she was in a man's house, in the small hours of the morning, sharing a really nice breakfast and he had told her he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. (Okay, admittedly, he had said he wanted to spend the rest of his life on the run with her but, with Hannibal, it was kind of the same). This was about as real as it got.

The ring fit a little loose around her finger, but Starling had lost weight over the past month and deemed it probably a good thing. It gave her room to grow.

As she said those words, Lecter smiled a little.

"I think, perhaps, that is our status." he told her, rubbing her hand – ring and all – gently between his own. "Room to grow."

She knew what he meant. Sort of.

If she decided to run with him, a prospect that was looking more likely with each passing second, then they would grow and change. This relationship they had had, for the past eight months, had been primarily fantasy. She had been screwing with a convicted serial killer in the evening and driving into work at the Bureau the following morning. Her two lives had been kept separate but in-tandem with each other. It was an arrangement which was never meant to last. Already, she had almost been caught out in her lies by John Brigham and Ardelia. They would not remain oblivious forever. It was high time for Starling to do something about it. To grow. To either invest herself in her current life, or move on.

They were all growing, she thought pensively, all moving on. Dee had found some new guy, two classes below them at the Academy, to date. It was all a bit hush-hush at the moment, but Starling thought it might work out, in the long run. They were thinking of moving in together, trying it out. As for John Brigham, well, Brigham remained Brigham. There was no prospect of him finding a girl and settling down but, at the same time, he was climbing the career ladder like only a man like John Brigham could. He had taken a very nice transfer over to Drugs and Trafficking in January and everybody said he would be running the section in five years' time. Starling liked to think he would. The country would be that little bit safer, with John Brigham guarding the gates.

Her friends were growing into themselves; perhaps it was time for Starling to do the same. She had until May. Now, all she had to do was decide what part of herself she was supposed to grow into. Was she to be a sacrificial lamb, to be slain before the FBI's altar? Or was she to be part of a pair, destined to wander the earth and explore all its beauty. Starling frowned at the latter thought – it was the crux of her problem. She didn't know if she could live a life without purpose, wandering the world with Hannibal. It sounded lovely, for a time, but it sure wasn't the life she had envisaged for herself. And that was what was holding her back.

But, she had until May. She did not have to decide right now. For now, she just slipped her hand over Hannibal's and up his arm. Gripping his skin tight, beneath her fingertips, she met his eye and asked him, gently if he would take her upstairs.

Ever the gentleman, Lecter acquiesced.

Two flights up, they fell across his unmade sheets and stripped back their clothes. He had not changed in his short time away and neither had she. They rediscovered each other's bodies anyway, taking time, carefully peeling back their garments until they were bared before the room. it was warm inside the room and they decided to leave the drapes open. Their bedroom faced the yard and nobody overlooked them here. Here, they were safe. The sun's morning rays played across their naked bodies, as they let themselves collide.

Skin-on-skin, they breathed each other in, touching, caressing, stroking until they could barely breathe for the want singing in their bodies. They drew it out as long as felt right and then, slowly, they pushed themselves together. Him inside her, they panted, grasping at one another until they found a comfortable rhythm. Once established, they were good at keeping time. They always had been. Cradling between her lover's arms and the bed, Starling let herself be carried to the edge of climax and back, several times, before her will-power failed and, trembling, she begged him to let her go. Breathlessly, he complied, sending her trembling and moaning over the edge.

The euphoria falling back, she felt the heat of his release seep against her and wondered when he had come. She had not noticed, lost in her own pleasure. Relinquishing her grip on his shoulders, she let him roll off of her and they collapsed, side by side, listening to the sound of their own rapid breaths. The sheets were cool beneath their hot bodies. Their breathing was harsh and fast. Hers went down first, then his, followed by the slowing of her thunderous heartbeat.

It was not always long or complicated, but the pair always had good sex. They had a lot of passion to work with, between the pair of them. When they managed to get it working in synchrony, they could be amazing.

As the sweat evaporated off of Starling's belly, she watched her lover trace the circle of her navel, from under hooded eyes.

He loved her. He had asked her to marry him – even if it had been in a strange sort of way. Though moments like this felt like they had made up her mind for her, Starling knew she must wait until May to tell him her choice. She needed time to think and he needed space to breathe. Only then could they come together and make something that would grow, rather than fizzle out. There needed to be no second thoughts, no regrets or reservations. If she ran with him, she wanted to be all-in.

She had a feeling he was already there.

Tasting the side of her shoulder with the tip of his tongue, he pressed a kiss against her skin, whispering her name. It still, without fail, caused the hairs along her arms and neck to stand up, on end. She waited until they had lowered again, before speaking.

"Thank you for the ring." she said softly. She was still wearing it. It did not feel as wrong as she had expected it to.

For a moment, Lecter looked a little worried, as if he thought she might be about to give a premature answer, to his question. However, Starling did not say anything more. Running one hand over his head, she just lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes. She was content. Satisfied. Completely.

"It was kind of brave of you," she added, with a smile.

"And brave of you, to let me."

Starling's lips twitched upwards a bit. An exchange of compliments; this was a side of him that she had not yet experienced. It was kind of nice, she decided. Soft, morning lover-Hannibal was every bit as pleasant as intense, evening mentor-Hannibal. She supposed, if this was to work out, she would learn many more sides of him. Starling startled herself by thinking she was pretty sure she could handle that – even the less pleasant ones.

"We are brave people, then." Starling announced, lazily, to the morning room.

Lecter laughed, causing a vibration to run through her body.

"Undoubtedly." He ran his finger once more along the outline of her navel then scratched the side of her belly. It felt good.

"Thank you for asking, though." she opened one eye, looking down at him as he lay at her side, head resting against her arm. "What would you have done if I'd said no, outright?" she asked, suddenly curious.

Lecter remained silent for a few passing moments, and then he turned his face up to hers, smiling playfully.

"Honestly? I would have been quite perplexed. I wouldn't have the first idea of what to do with you. After all, you have nowhere near enough fat on you for a decent casserole."

Starling's heart leapt a little faster, but she did not feel any fear creeping into her – cold or otherwise.

"Oh, so we c'n joke about that now, can we?" she asked, in a tone which told him she did not entirely approve.

He just continued to watch her, with a hint of a smile in his eyes.

"We can joke about anything you please, Clarice. You can say anything you like, to me, I'm quite pathetically in love with you. I found myself following you around the house, last Saturday, like a lost whelp. It took me nearly five minutes to realise I wasn't doing anything but watch you move. Did you notice?" he asked her, eyes twinkling.

She blushed. She had.

"I had to ask you," he explained, dropping the jesting immediately from the conversation and replacing it with warm sincerity. "Despite knowing you would not answer, right away, I had to let you know where I was."

They lay for a while in companionable silence. Outside the window, the morning grew a little brighter, nine o' clock approaching. It was Sunday and only a few cars were up and heading into the city. For the most part, the neighbourhood was quiet. A few doors down, there were some children playing in their yard. Starling could hear their occasional laughter. At her side, Lecter looked entirely content just to lie there, with her, for as long as she liked. Starling was considering a second nap.

Before her body could fully relax, however, and her eyes drifted shut, she decided to ask him one last question.

"So where do you go, when you're not here?"

"I spend a lot of time in New York. I have a house in the country."

Starling smothered her surprise at the surety of his reply, by asking another question.

"Will you take me, sometime?"

"Anytime," he answered, again without hesitation.

Silence, as she considered this.

She had expected more reservation, more holding back on his side – especially considering how protective he had to be about his own safety. Then again, he had just asked her to run away with him. Perhaps they had reached a point where he was absolutely sure of her. Or, perhaps, they would never reach that point. Perhaps there were still other places he was hiding from her, that she would never know about even if she ran with him for a hundred years.

Starling wondered if it really mattered what she knew about where he went. She had seen the worst and darkest side of him and she was still lying here, in his arms. She had seen the blood and the anger, the hurt and the rage, and she still loved him more than she had loved any other human being. She loved him differently, too. Though she had not chosen to be connected to him, in the way that they irreversibly were, she had chosen to be here, to forge a relationship on their rocky foundations. They had both compromised a lot, to be here. This was an adult relationship – her first adult relationship, really – where both parties were fully apprised of what the other had to offer. Lecter offered beauty and wonder, and she...

Once more, Starling paused, wondering what she brought to the table before quickly dismissing the thought. He loved her. That was as much as she needed to know.

"I think I have some vacation time due, next week," she told him softly.

He nodded, against her side and they lay still for a little longer, listening to the noise of the DC spring growing louder. Voices, birds, cars engines, the noise from the children's ball game, further down the street. The tree outside Lecter's DC house was tall and slightly unkempt. Its leafy boughs brushed close to the house, the swish of its leaves sounding delicately in the light breeze. It was almost hypnotic. Starling found herself falling into lethargy so complete and comfortable that she forgot she was even waiting for an answer to her statement.

As the neighbour's front door creaked open then slammed closed, she was jerked somewhat back to reality. Turning her head on its side, she looked to her lover, across the pillow, asking him for a response. After a wide yawn, Lecter spoke.

"Next week would suit me perfectly," his eyes lowered, to rest on hers, his fingertips stroking circles around her navel. "Might I ask, Clarice, what on Earth are you going to write, on your leave request form?"

A laugh trickled lazily from her lips; the joy of it doubled as his hand, lying on her belly, rose and fell in time with her movement.

Together. Connected.

Lecter leant closer, resting his face against her shoulder, kissing her skin softly. Starling let her mirth run its natural course, for once not cutting herself off, for fear of his reaction. She could tell, by the way he was sprawled across the sheets, that he had no interest in analysing their current situation. Like her, his muscles were relaxed. He was sated and soft. His mouth, pressing gently into her skin, was curved in a half-smile.

As the laughter died away, Starling sighed heavily.

Lecter stroked her sides a little more.

"I miss you, when you're away," she admitted, quietly.

"Perversely, I'm glad of your pain," he murmured back, sleepily. "It means I must be doing something right."

"Oh, you do things very right, 'ndeed."

His mouth twitched slightly.

Beneath it all, all the mystery and beauty and wonder of him, he was just a man and he liked to be reminded of how well he could make her feel like a woman. She liked to be reminded of things too, so they both did so, every now and again. Whispered love, beautiful, quiet secrets that nobody else knew about them. It was a way of bonding, she was sure. There was probably a psychological name for it and he probably knew it but he never used it against her, so she did not much care.

"Do I still get to drop by tomorrow, or have I used up one of my visitations for the week?" she asked.

"Come tomorrow."

She smiled.

Outside, the tree brushed lightly against the window pane. They would have to trim it back, sometime. The thought caused Starling another momentary chuckle. The thought of her and Hannibal doing garden work should have bordered on preposterous. At the same time, it felt strangely natural to imagine that they might spend an entire weekend together, pottering about, doing stuff – nothing important, just stuff. She would like that.

Maybe they could enjoy other activities in the garden. Hs New York garden, in the country, of course – where they could not be overlooked by neighbours. She had always wanted to have sex outdoors. It was one of her younger mind's imaginings which she had never explored, in much detail, let alone ventured to try. Once glance over at Lecter and she was fairly sure that he would oblige her. He had told her, after all, that he was willing to try almost everything once.

The thought tickled her lips upwards again and she fell into comfortable slumber.

.

Beside Starling, her lover lay in equally contented silence, fingers continuing to stroke lazy patterns against her skin. His eyes were focussed on her hand, as it lay on the pillow between them. In particular, his attention was focussed on his ring, fitted perfectly around her finger.

Beneath it all, the mystery and beauty and wonder of him, he was just a man and he liked to be reminded that this woman was connected to him. The ring was a physical sign of that, a submission to his baser need to possess her. Possession was not the correct word, perhaps, Lecter mused as he let his body slip deeper into relaxation. He did not own her, he never would and he knew that. He could never fully control her, either – so he had long ago stopped trying to. Living with her, watching the intricate beauty of Clarice Starling, loose upon the world, was far more satisfying anyway.

His Clarice Starling.

Part of him wished he had made the ring an ultimatum. The thought of waiting until May to know her answer was almost painful. Almost a month. Could he wait almost a month? He could, of course, he had waited for years. He was a patient man. And that was lucky, he thought, because embarking on a life with this woman who lay beside him was not going to be easy. She was dangerous and wild and unpredictable – attributes that she would possibly ascribe to him, if she were the one having this mental conversation. There would be difficulties, in their future, he was sure of that, but the benefits of a life together far outweighed the negatives. And the risk he was taking in letting down his guard, a little.

He loved her, so he had to ask.

"Run with me, lover," he whispered, against her shoulder, giving her one last kiss, before retreating a little, to his side of the bed, and letting his body sink down into their plush nest of bed sheets. "Run with me."

Perhaps the message would reach her subliminally. Perhaps she would wake in a couple of hours with her decision already made. Lecter smiled to himself and was glad that the human mind did not work that way. It would have taken all the fun out of life.

Closing his eyes, he pushed his face further into the pillow, rubbing his cheek against Egyptian cotton. That damned tree was brushing past the window again, outside. He would have to get someone to come by, cut it down. Maybe Starling would do it for him. She was the sort of woman he imagined was into that sort of thing – hard, physical labour. Maybe he could relax on the patio and watch her work. He would make it worth her while, once she was done.

A smile tickled his lips and he repeated his mantra, inside his mind.

_Run with me, lover, run with me. _

It might not be easy and he might have to learn when to hold his tongue a little more, but the benefits of Clarice Starling running with him far, far outweighed the negatives. And they would have such fantastic fun, together. Giving one last sigh, he let himself drift away.

.

Outside, the wind died down and the tree's branches stilled.

Inside, the two slept on, peacefully.

.


End file.
